Three Things
by JDPhoenix
Summary: JONAS Soon the whole world would know that Joe Lucas was the ugliest man alive. Joella
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am in any way associated with, Jonas (the show or the band). I also do not own any of the quotes at the start of chapters, but highly recommend you go check out whatever they come from.

AN: If, by any chance, you're reading _The Great Gatsby_ or stopped halfway through the movie and don't want to know anything about it, you should probably stop now. As much as I hate that book, the reference worked.

**Three Things**

I.

_"I am here to tell you we can never meet again_

_Simple really, isn't it, a word or two and then_

_A lifetime of not knowing where or how or why or when..."_

_- Elton John & LeAnn Rimes, "Written in the Stars"  
_

Stella Malone was done. Finished. She was not going to let those Lucas boys run her ragged anymore. Okay, maybe they'd never run her ragged, she'd done it to herself most of the time; but she needed a solid, adult reason for leaving and work seemed suitably mature.

"Are you sure about this, Stella?" Macy asked. She was pacing the sidewalk in front of the Lucas' firehouse, holding her cell phone to her ear and wishing she could have this conversation in person. Since she wasn't a member of JONAS the fangirls were nowhere to be seen, preferring to remain in hiding until the boys showed themselves. The boys in question, along with their father, were all staring at her from the upstairs windows, praying that she would have some luck.

"I'm sure, Mace," Stella said resolutely. "I need to branch out, spread my fashion wings. I can't do that if I keep the same old job I've had since high school."

"But your high school job isn't like other people's. You were _the_ stylist for one of the world's biggest teen sensations. Your creations, your looks have been featured in every fashion magazine on the planet."

"Macy," Stella began in that tone of voice she used when she was trying to get Macy to understand how non-fangirls saw the world.

"Stella," Macy said, cutting her off quickly. "You've told me why you're leaving, Mr. Lucas even let me read your letter of resignation, but you and I both know that all the reasons you've given so far are just a load of hooey. You're scared of jumping, you always have been, but I promise you that if you walk away now you're going to regret it. He won't wait forever."

There was silence for several beats and Macy alternately wondered if she'd lost the connection and hoped that she'd gotten through to her best friend. Then, out of the silence, she got her answer.

"I never expected him to."

* * *

Macy was wrong about one thing and as happy as she should have been about that, Joe didn't make it easy. Fan magazines blamed it on college, on the constant spotlight, on drugs, on everything from a religious experience to a sex-change operation. Those close to the Lucas family blamed it on Stella. No one was callous enough to blame the girl directly -- and most blamed both of them equally -- but it was plain to anyone with eyes that Joe's spiral into extreme rock star jerkdom began when Stella left.

He was sad more often and spent whole afternoons planning different outfits with the Stellavator. And at first everyone let it go. Give him time, he'll find his rhythm soon enough. But the rhythm he found was unlike the one he'd had before. His songs were angst-ridden and after a while became angry. His fashion sense was impeccable, as always, but every magazine cover, every best dressed list only seemed to make him mad.

The band stayed together, his brothers weren't about to let him ruin JONAS. With Macy's help and a bit of manipulation from Frankie they got him on stage every night, made it through the show without an incident. They needn't have bothered, he still knew what the fans wanted, wouldn't disappoint them. But after the show ended and he went back to whatever hotel they were staying in, he was back in his funk.

When his brothers finally had enough and dragged him to an after party, they regretted it. He found that parties suited him. He could escape in a sea of people, leave his sadness behind for a few hours.

Eventually he moved out, bought his own house in LA where he threw parties every weekend. When he was arrested the first time Macy was the only one in town. She picked him up, sobered him up, and gave him a lecture, ending the whole thing by asking if he really wanted to be the Great Gatsby. He hadn't had her English teacher in senior year and so hadn't read it. She calmly explained that Gatsby had bought a mansion that could be seen from the house of the woman he'd spent the past few years pining over. He threw parties there every night in hopes that she would notice.

If Joe really wanted her back, Macy said, he should go out in a striped shirt with polka dot pants. She'd come running. Joe ignored the joke, shrugged off the metaphor and Macy stormed out, leaving him with the end of the book: Gatsby dies alone.

Joe threw another party that night. At the stroke of twelve exactly, when the party was just getting started, a little old woman came to the door.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

**Three Things**

II.

_"What has a man's face to do with his character?" -- Ann Radcliffe, _The Mysteries of Udolpho

"Okay, this has gone too far," Nick said, reading the morning's headlines as the limo wound its way to Joe's house. The party the night before had been broken up abruptly. Guests were telling all sorts of stories about just what exactly had occurred. Nick's patience had finally been lost when he read the headline linking JONAS to aliens. "I thought you said you were going to handle it," he added, looking up at Macy.

"Ah!" Macy cried from her seat beside Kevin. "I said I would try to keep things under control until you got here!" She turned to Kevin, pulling away from him. "What took you so long?"

"I--" Kevin looked to Nick, then back to Macy. "We took the JONAS Jet. I didn't know there was a faster way."

Macy sighed and settled back into place, snuggling closer to Kevin than was entirely necessary. Nick just rolled his eyes and glanced out the window, hoping they would get there soon. Joe's bad attitude was hurting everyone.

"Have you tried--?" he ventured.

"No," Macy said resolutely. "In high school she accepted my borderline unhealthy JONAS obsession and I didn't ask for any special JONAS privileges. She is my best friend, Nick, she's moving on -- or trying to, at least -- and I'm not going to hurt her by forcing her to face something that at this point can only cause her more pain."

The limo came to a stop then and the three piled out.

"Well," Kevin said, "it certainly looks like a SWAT team tore through the place."

Macy took his arm. "You know those headlines are probably all lies, right?"

"Well, how do _you_ explain this?" Kevin asked, spreading his free arm wide to encompass the trash-strewn lawn, broken windows, door hanging by only one hinge, and ottoman resting high in the branches of a tree.

Macy and Nick cocked their heads in identical looks of confusion.

"I have no idea," Nick said. "Let's just go inside and see Joe."

Kevin went in first, helping Macy around the remains of the front door. The only light came through the doorway and gaps in the curtains blocking the windows.

"It did not look like this yesterday," Macy said, tip-toeing around the shattered remains of a family of crystal geese. Furniture was overturned, pictures torn from their nails, and a hole bigger than Kevin's head now connected the foyer and the nearest bathroom.

"Joe!" Nick called, while Kevin and Macy examined the wreckage. "**Joe! **You come out here right now!" His voice echoed off the walls and he turned to Macy. "Where's his room?"

"This way," Macy said, and led them up the stairs.

The second floor fared better than the first. The only damage they found was a small table thrown across the hall and a shattered mirror.

"Oh," Kevin sighed when he saw that, "someone's got seven years bad luck."

"Let's hope it's not Joe," Nick said. "He's had more than enough lately."

Macy took them to the end of a long hallway, where a set of double doors stood. She paused, her hand over the gilt knob, before stepping back.

"I can't do it," she said.

"That's okay," Kevin said, "he's our brother."

"And he's my friend! I mean, I want to help but … I just can't be the one to open it."

Kevin smiled. "Like when you had to open my college acceptance letters because I was afraid they'd reject me?"

"Exactly," Macy said.

"Well," Nick said, eager to get this over with, "luckily for both of you, I'm here now."

He went through the door without any further discussion, Kevin and Macy following close behind. Nick marched across the room and pulled the curtains open, bathing the room in morning light. Joe's massive four-poster bed sat against one wall, with a plasma TV across from it. One of the hangings around the bed had been torn half-off to reveal a lump beneath the silk covers.

Nick gave Kevin and Macy an incredulous look before hurrying to the bed. He didn't stop to think before stepping up onto the mattress and walking across until he reached his brother. He kicked and pushed the heavy sleeper all the way off the bed.

"Ow!" Joe moaned when he hit the hardwood floor.

"Get up!" Nick snapped, jumping off the bed after Joe. "Do you have any idea how worried we've been about you? Mom was almost crying when we left last night! Look at me when I'm making you feel guilty!" He reached down and pulled the blanket off of Joe.

Macy let out a scream while Nick and Kevin stood stunned.

"Yeah," Joe sighed, "I know."

Nick sat down on the bed, staring at his brother, and Kevin and Macy slowly approached him as if he were an animal they weren't quite sure of.

"I don't," Macy began, "I mean … it's _you_. You look the same but … different."

"Ugly?" Joe volunteered.

"Yes," Kevin said abruptly.

Macy and Nick shot him annoyed looks.

"Sorry," Kevin said with a defensive shrug.

"No," Joe said, "it's okay. I _am _the one who said it."

Macy knelt down and poked Joe's cheek, then his forehead, then his nose. Joe stopped her before she could poke anything else.

"Okay, that's enough," he said.

"I don't get it," she said. "You look _exactly_ the same as you did yesterday, if a bit more tired. Why are you suddenly so ugly that I can barely stand to look at you?"

Joe pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. "I've been cursed," he muttered.

No one said anything for a moment as the full effect of those words sunk in.

"Usually," Nick said finally, "I would say that's insane, but since I don't even think Mom could love that face … I'm gonna roll with it this time."

"Gee, thanks," Joe said.

Macy stood, brushing off the back of her jeans as she did so. "Well, curses are meant to be broken, aren't they? That's the way it works in fairy tales. So all we have to do is figure out how to break the curse, then Joe can get back to normal and none of the paparazzi ever have to know about this."

"Okay," Kevin said, "but could Joe put on a mask first, he's really freaking me out. Those eyes … when they look at you…." He shuddered.

"They're the same eyes I've always had," Joe said without much passion.

"Yeah, but now they're just so creepy."

"Come on!" Macy said, taking Kevin's hand and pulling him towards the door. "Let's all go downstairs and have something to eat, it'll make us feel better and Joe can tell us exactly what happened. Wait," she said, pausing and turning back to Joe, "don't you have someone who comes in and cleans? Do they know about this?"

"Yeah," he said, "my maid was here last night when it happened. I don't think she's coming back."

The four hurried downstairs, Joe at the back of the line so no one had to look at him. The only masks Joe had were large wooden ones the boys had gotten while doing relief work in Africa -- they were some of the only Stella era items in the house. With no other options Kevin cut two holes in a brown paper bag and stuck it over Joe's head.

"So what happened?" Nick asked when Macy had set them all up with peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

Joe sighed, though it was muffled by the bag. "This old lady came to the door asking if I could turn down the music. I knew none of my neighbors could possibly hear it since I got this place specifically since it's so far removed from everything. I told her to get lost. She didn't and asked if I could spare a blanket for a woman out in the cold. It was an unseasonably warm night so I told her no. Then she asked if I would let her stay the night. I didn't want her cramping my style -- who wants hobo grandma crashing the party? -- so I told her I'd call the cops if she didn't leave. The next thing I know there's a huge flash of light and everybody's screaming and running and it's total chaos. I tried stopping a few people, but they all just started screaming louder when they saw me. The old lady stayed until they were gone and explained to me that I was too wrapped up in appearance and my own problems and what I really needed was a change of perspective, so she made me ugly."

"_Really_ ugly," Kevin muttered.

"Kevin!" Macy snapped. "Go on, Joe, did she tell you how to break the curse?"

"I have to learn what really matters in life or something like that," he said, waving his hand vaguely.

"Well," Nick said, "at least something good's come out of all this."

"What?" Joe demanded.

"You're talking to us with a lot less sarcasm than usual. And the last time we had a conversation that lasted this long was Easter."

"That wasn't so long ago."

"Easter of last year."

"Oh."

"Well," Macy said cheerfully, "this should be fun. We just have to teach Joe what's important in life, he'll be a changed man, and everything can go back to better-than-normal."

"Ummm," Kevin said quietly.

"What's up, Kev?" Nick asked.

"What _is_ important in life?"

The four exchanged helpless looks and Joe buried his face in his arms, the paper bag crumpling.

"I'm doomed."

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

**Three Things**

III.

_Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness and cooperation and kindness and caring - quite often the hard way. -- Pamela Dugdale_

The first order of business was figuring out what to do about the press. For the moment, Joe couldn't go outside, couldn't even afford to have the paparazzi sneaking around his house.

"I left the country?" Joe demanded the next morning when Nick arrived with breakfast for him. It had been agreed that Joe couldn't be depended upon to look after himself right now -- or ever, really.

"Whoa! Dude!" Nick snapped, holding up a hand. "Paper bag!"

Joe huffed and grabbed the paper bag he'd used yesterday off the counter, pulling it down over his head so hard that the top of his head almost tore through it.

"Thank you," Nick said and resumed unpacking the McDonald's bag while Joe took a seat at the small table. "And yes, we're telling the press that you left the country for a tonsillectomy."

"One," Joe said, holding up a finger, "why would I leave the country for a routine medical procedure? And two, no one's ever gonna believe this."

"You're a crazy rockstar. You're going to France because they have one of the best throat surgeons in the world."

"Really?"

"I don't know. Macy came up with it though. And people are totally going to believe it because the JONAS Jet landed in Paris five hours ago and a heavily cloaked figure emerged, flanked by his trusty Big Man."

"Let me guess," Joe said dryly, "Kevin in a wig."

"No! People get one even marginally good look at Kevin and they'll know it's him. Remember Paolo?"

Joe shook his head dumbly and reached for a plastic platter of pancakes.

"Fiona Skye's personal photographer?"

"Oh yeah!"

"Macy dressed him up as you, gave him a huge notebook on the dos and don'ts of being Joe Lucas, and sent him on his way with instructions not to say a single word while he's there."

"Man, that guy's loyal."

"Yeah," Nick said sadly. "I think he spent so many years under Fiona's thumb that when he was finally free and came over to Macy's side he just fell into his old routines and became her lackey."

Joe nodded, the paper bag crackling as he did so. "Should it scare me that I'm not at all surprised to hear that one of my high school friends has a lackey?"

"You're cursed, Joe, let's deal with one crisis at a time." He tore a piece off his own pancake and ate it.

"So what are we doing about that anyway?"

"Macy and Kevin are trying to figure out what that woman may have meant by 'what's important in life.'" He took his cell phone from his pocket and slid it to the middle of the table. "They'll call when they find something."

Joe stared at the phone while he ate his sausage under the bag, as if he could will it to ring.

* * *

Kevin sat on a bench in the middle of the UCLA campus late in the afternoon. He wore shades and a knit cap Macy had given him for his last birthday. She claimed that his hair was one of the big giveaways when he was trying to be incognito and, he had to admit, the cap seemed to be working. Plus, it was warm. Fall was quickly giving way to winter and California was losing its picturesque warm weather.

He and Macy had spent the morning combing the streets, asking anyone who would listen what they thought was the most important thing in life. At about noon they'd gotten hungry and over lunch decided that they should get a more professional opinion, so they'd come to the university, hoping to find answers there.

Macy exited one of the nearby buildings and sprinted across the lawn. Her cheeks were pink from the sudden chill but she didn't seem to mind.

"I got it," she said. "I interviewed the head of every department and asked every single student and teacher and janitor I passed in the halls."

"So, what'd they say?" Kevin asked eagerly as she took a seat beside him.

She flipped through the yellow legal pad she was carrying. "The students said … lots of things. But I kind of think we should discount most of it since they're so young. I doubt a mystical woman would curse Joe if the thing he needed to learn was as superficial as," she looked down and read the first word she saw, "boobs." Realizing what she'd said the pink in her cheeks spread to a full-on blush.

Kevin looped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight. "What about the grown-ups?"

"Lots of them gave weird, existential answers. One guy even said that nothing was important in life, that it was all meaningless and random and you just had to cope however you could."

"Sheesh," Kevin muttered.

"Yeah," Macy said with a nod, "I caught him when he was going into class. The students didn't seem too surprised to hear that answer -- and they didn't seem too happy to be there either." She flipped through the list of answers one more time. "I don't know. Nothing seems to stand out."

Kevin took the pad from her hands and looked it over, his brow furrowed as he considered all the different answers.

"Maybe …" he began.

"Yeah?" Macy prodded.

"Maybe the guy who said 'boobs' was onto something."

Macy reeled back. "You cannot be serious." She'd heard Kevin say some weird things in her life and usually she found them endearing, but this was bordering on gross and disturbing.

"No, hear me out," he said, his eyes never leaving the pad. "He says, 'boobs,' and this lady back here, who we caught on her way to work, she said, 'family.' This grandma we met at the bus stop, the one on her way to pick up her grandkids for the day? She said, 'children.' And this one, suit-guy?"

Macy giggled. Suit-guy had clearly been unhappy to answer their question but his boss had stopped for them just before and was still in earshot.

"He said, 'money,'" Kevin said.

"So? Those are all totally different things."

"But they all fill the void."

"What void?"

"You know, the void they talk about in romantic comedies. The one that can only be filled by that one person who finishes your heart's duet."

Macy smiled, she loved it when Kevin referenced Disney films. Her smile quickly faded however, when she realized what he meant.

"Love," she said. "Love is what's important."

Seeing how sad she was, Kevin quickly added, "But maybe it can be any kind of love. Brotherly love, love for the fans, love for Mom and Dad … it could be anything really."

"But Joe _does_ love you and Nick and Frankie, and he _does_ love the fans, and he _does_ love your mom and dad. I mean, he's a jerk a lot of the time, but he still goes home for the holidays, he still calls your mom after every show, he still signs autographs and takes pictures with girls who run up to him in the street. But he's still got that hole. He knows he can't fill it with you guys so he's been trying to fill it with parties and fame and image. He's trying to pretend the hole doesn't matter."

"Okay," Kevin said, "so maybe we just have to convince him that it does."

Macy smiled half-heartedly. They both knew that Joe would never listen.

* * *

The whole house shuddered as the bedroom doors slammed.

"Well," Nick said, "that could have gone better."

Macy sighed, sagging into her seat at the kitchen table. "It was worth a shot," she said, more for Kevin's sake than anything else.

"Maybe we should call Mom," Kevin sighed.

"No way," Nick said. "Mom is not getting dragged into this. Plus, can you imagine how angry he'd be if Mom saw him and screamed or something?"

"I said I was sorry, okay?" Macy snapped, her voice strained. She buried her head in her hands for a moment, trying to think of a solution.

The three sat there uncomfortably, wondering what to do. The fluorescent bulbs overhead only made the darkness around them seem deeper and the wind blowing past the broken windows was decidedly eerie.

"This is going to take a while, isn't it?" Macy asked finally. "I mean, Joe's stubborn and the curse is just one more reason for him to cut himself off from the world."

Nick nodded. "If he doesn't change his attitude, there's really nothing we can do. And, frankly, we've all been begging him to change his attitude for years."

"Okay," Macy said, straightening her back. "The press is taken care of. If this isn't fixed in a few weeks we change the story, say Joe is sick and needs some special treatment -- I'll think of something," she added, waving away their questions before they could ask. "Then, if it takes longer, we'll tell them that he's dating some French girl and won't come home."

"Macy," Kevin asked appreciatively, "why are you only our publicist when there's a major crisis?"

"You know I thrive under pressure, I can only do a really good job for you when it's super important. Plus, it's hard enough just being your personal trainer when Joe lives here and Nick lives in New York and you live back home … it's a lot of work. Anyway, as for the band --"

"There is no band," Nick said quickly, "not without Joe."

Macy ignored him. "You'll just have to be two-thirds of JONAS for now and, if it comes to it, Frankie's always been more than eager to fill in. This is just how it's gonna have to be, guys. But only until we get this curse thing taken care of."

* * *

The next day repairmen arrived to replace the windows and fix the front door. Joe stayed in his room, sulking and watching daytime television with the volume down low, while the others brainstormed ways to get through to him.

They spent the next few weeks forcing him to watch romantic comedies and Shakespeare and musicals. They played him love songs, sad songs, happy songs -- anything that spoke to the importance of love. But as time went on, life got in the way. Nick had to go back to school before he failed his classes, and Kevin had charity events that he just couldn't miss. Joe said he was happy to see them go, he didn't need them trying to run his life anyway. Soon after that he forced Macy to leave. He started by hinting that she wasn't being a very good trainer if her clients were on the other side of the country and when that didn't work he kicked her out.

The boys understood. Joe was only getting more gruff, more angry, more horrible to be around. Frankly, they were surprised she managed to last two whole weeks after Kevin left. They were just thankful she'd thought ahead. She set Joe up with a very discreet delivery service that would drop off groceries at his home every few days.

They kept the curse a secret as best they could. Macy's plans for the press worked well and Paolo seemed to be doing a good job running around France as Joe Lucas.

When Joe came up at family dinners the boys claimed to have spoken to him recently, he was doing well, no, not well enough to come home yet. Of course, this always led to trouble since their mother wanted to visit him. And that was why they had to tell Frankie. They confronted him in his room one night after dinner. Their mother had been particularly adamant about going to France and their arguments against such a trip had fallen on deaf ears.

"Seriously?" Frankie asked. "You expect me to believe that Joe's cursed?"

Nick wondered if this attitude was because Frankie was a teenager now, then reminded himself that Frankie had never been one for flights of fancy -- unless those flights were of his own ego.

"Yes," Nick said, hoping Frankie would believe him if he was heartfelt about it, "we do."

"You can even ask Macy!" Kevin added.

That got Frankie thinking. Macy didn't often lie, especially to members of their family. After a quick phone call where Macy confirmed everything the brothers had said, Frankie nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay, what do you need me to do?"

"We need you to keep Mom and Dad from going to visit Joe," Nick said.

"That's easy enough." He hit a few buttons on his phone and waited for whoever was on the other end to pick up. "Hey, Zora! Listen, I know it's short notice but think you can make it to New Jersey this weekend? I've got a school dance I need a date to." There was a pause and he smiled wryly. "No, I could easily get another date, but I wasn't planning on going until just now. I've got a little … project that could use your particular touch. Thanks, you're the best. Don't let Tawni torture you picking out a dress. Bye."

Nick and Kevin exchanged a look as Frankie hung up.

"Was that …" Kevin began.

"Zora Lancaster of _So Random_ and _Celebrity Practical Jok'd_?" Nick finished.

Frankie nodded as if that should be obvious.

"How do you know her?"

"Oddly, not through Chad Dylan Cooper. We met through this website for schemers. She's _really_ good."

"I hope so," Kevin said, "if she's gonna help keep Mom away from Joe -- or fake Joe."

Frankie shrugged and made his way to the door. "Mom!" he yelled. "I need your help!"

"With what?" she called back. "And don't yell in the house!"

Kevin snickered.

"I have a date to the dance Saturday!"

This sent Mrs. Lucas into a storm of glee, effectively distracting her from visiting Joe.

"Hey," Frankie said, before heading downstairs to ask her about corsages and dancing. "Have any of you thought about calling … you know?"

"Yes," Nick said, "and it's not happening. We're worried enough about what he'd do if Mom saw him. Anyway, they'd probably just kill each other if we put them in the same room now."

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

**Three Things**

IV.

"…_but the rain _

_Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh_

_Upon the glass and listen for reply,_

_And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain…"_

_~ Edna St. Vincent Millay_

For what had to be the twelfth time the car engine sputtered and refused to start properly. Stella kicked the brake pedal and tore the key from the ignition. The rental car was officially a piece of crap and it didn't help that she couldn't find where she was supposed to be going on the map they'd given her. She got out of the car, hoping to flag someone down before the forecasted rain started falling, but she hadn't seen anyone for at least ten minutes before she broke down so she doubted she'd have much luck.

She leaned back against the hood and pulled out her cell phone to dial the rental company. She was met with a less than helpful recording about their business hours. With a growl she hit the end call button and considered her options. The road she was stuck on was all rich people's mansions, separated by huge stretches of property filled with towering trees and surrounded by security fences. She doubted she'd find any help from them.

The only people she knew in LA were celebrities who she'd designed for, so they were out of the question. She considered calling Giselle, the model who was lending her the vacation house, but it was the middle of the night in Paris and she didn't really think she'd be much help.

She hit the speed dial and prayed that Macy would be able to help. It rang five times before going to voicemail.

"Urgh," Stella muttered as Macy's recorded voice instructed her to leave a message. "Listen, Macy, I'm in LA and I know you're on the other side of the continent but my rental car broke down and the company's not answering their phone. I was hoping you knew of a good cab company out here. And when you call back, please do not lecture me on why I'm on the other side of the country instead of in Paris. I don't want to hear it. I know it's cowardly and I'm just avoiding the inevitable, but I don't need to hear it from you. So please call me back soon because -- it's raining. It's officially raining. I gotta go. Call me soon!"

She pulled the car door open and threw the phone in her purse. After a moment's hesitation she grabbed the purse and keys, locked the doors, and set off down the road, holding the purse over her head in a futile attempt at keeping herself dry. She knew it was stupid to go begging at rich strangers' gates in the pouring rain, but it was probably even more stupid to sit in a dead car in low visibility weather while it got darker and darker when the roads were at their slickest.

At the first gate she hit the call button but received no answer. She hit it several more times and peered through a gap in the wooden gate at the large house across the lawn. The windows were all dark and her soaking shoulders sagged. How far was it to the next house? She had no idea, but she wasn't looking forward to finding out.

A flash of light from somewhere behind her lit up the house's façade and thunder roared overhead.

"Oh, hell no," she muttered and tossed her purse high over the gate.

She would sit in their doorway if she had to but she would not stand out in the open a second more. With much cursing and effort, she managed to pull herself over, suffering only a cut on her leg for her efforts. Thankfully, she was in better shape than she'd been in during high school. She pulled the purse out of the mud and sprinted across the grass, noticing as she did that a light was on in one of the second floor bedrooms. It had been hidden from her view at the gate by a tree branch. She cursed again and ran straight at the door, pounding heavily on it.

"Let me in!" she bellowed, punctuating each word with a bang. After several moments with no response she ran back out onto the lawn. She picked a stone from amid the flowerbeds beneath the windows and tossed it towards the lit bedroom. It missed -- maybe she wasn't so much better than she was in high school. She picked up a whole handful and began throwing them, getting closer and closer to the window.

Another lightning strike, another roll of thunder and she gasped, dropping her stones and turning towards the center of the storm. When her heart had slowed to a reasonable pace she turned back to the window, only to find it dark. Before she could wonder what had happened light flooded the front windows beside the door. A moment later the door knob turned and the door fell open slightly.

Stella ran for it and burst into the house just in time to see someone disappearing upstairs.

"Hey! Wait!" she called. The comm unit beside the door crackled to life.

"The kitchen is to the right," a voice said. It was so mangled by static that she could only tell that it was a man's. "You'll find a phone and phonebook there."

Stella hit the button to talk. "Do you really think anyone's going to come all the way out here in this weather?"

There was a moment of silence, then, "You can take the first bedroom to the left of the stairs."

Stella sighed and, rather than head into the kitchen, searched for a bathroom. She found one, mostly because of the large hole in the wall through which she could see a toilet. She dried herself off and cleaned the mud off her purse quickly, hoping she hadn't done any permanent damage. The cut on her leg was bleeding and as much as it pained her she had no choice but to tear off the bottom foot of her jeans -- both legs, she would never walk around with mismatched pant legs. She should probably have gotten stitches but satisfied herself with stopping the bleeding and bandaging it.

She limped back out into the foyer and stopped dead in horror. Now that she was over the shock of the storm and actually being let in, she took a good look around. There was dust everywhere. It looked like one of those lame sci-fi shows where the world ends and years later the last surviving humans come to a town that's almost exactly the same, but without the people. Looking down she could see her own soggy tracks in the dusty carpet. A well-worn path through the dust led from the stairs across the foyer to what turned out to be the kitchen.

At least her savior seemed to eat, she thought, noting that the kitchen was clean. The phone was attached to the wall beside the fridge, the phonebook beneath it, and Stella set to work finding a way out of here.

An hour later she was stuck. She'd called half the taxi and tow services in the book and no one would come get her.

She tried Macy again on her cell and was met with the same message as before. She would have to spend the night in a creepy, rundown house with a hermit who she hadn't even seen.

"Oh, God," she muttered, "I'm in a horror movie."

* * *

Joe couldn't sleep. There was someone in his house. There hadn't been anyone in his house since he kicked Macy out. Granted, the woman who delivered the groceries came once a week, but she stayed in the kitchen the whole time. And the gardener only came inside once every two weeks to grab his check off the table in the foyer before leaving. This woman, whoever she was, would be staying the whole night. At least, he assumed she would. She was right, no one would come this far out of town on a night like this.

When he'd looked out the window because of the lightning and thunder he'd been surprised to see her, especially since his first thought was that she looked like a wet alley cat standing on his lawn. He couldn't just leave her out there, much as he wanted to. His mother would be ashamed. Plus, if she died of exposure in his yard the police would come and the press would follow and soon the whole world would know that Joe Lucas was the ugliest man alive.

He sighed, staring up at his ceiling. She was probably downstairs looking at everything he owned, exploring the creepy mansion. It was what he would do, if he was her. He should go make sure she wasn't. There was nothing to link him to JONAS down there, it was all random crap he'd bought because he thought it made him look cool, adult. All the JONAS paraphernalia was on the second floor -- where he had told her she could sleep. Idiot.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on a pair of sweats. He checked the hallway before daring to go near the room he'd given her. Creeping around his own house on tiptoe wasn't exactly something he'd imagined doing in his adult life -- unless of course there was a baby in the house, a sweet little thing with curly blonde hair and -- He shook himself. That was a dangerous train of thought.

He knocked when he reached her door and when there was no answer he peeked in. No one was inside. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she had found a ride. The sound of the toilet flushing downstairs told him otherwise.

He cursed silently and looked around the room, making sure there was nothing there to give away who he was. He didn't need it getting back to the press that Joe Lucas was actually in California. Finding nothing he crept back to his room and, just to be safe, put on a sleeping mask. Not that it helped him, he couldn't sleep for more than thirty minutes together the whole night.

* * *

In the morning Joe woke up with a start. Was she still here? Had she found a ride? Had she discovered who he was and called the paparazzi to invade his life and ultimately blow his secret? He rushed down the hall to see.

The bed was undisturbed so either she was a really good guest or she hadn't slept there. He groaned. That probably meant she'd spent the night exploring. He walked to the nearest comm unit and hit the button, hoping that wherever she was she would answer.

"Hello?" he called. "I'm not mad if you spent all night going through my personal belongings -- okay, I'm kind of mad -- but could you just answer so I know you're okay?"

There was no response and he could hear feedback coming from throughout the house. He shrugged, telling himself that she'd probably just gotten a ride earlier in the morning. The sun was shining outside and it promised to be a nice, if slightly soggy, day. Cautiously, he went downstairs.

"Hello?" he called when he reached the first floor.

He flicked off the foyer lights and looked around. He couldn't hear anything in the kitchen or the bathroom. Shrugging, he decided to get something to eat. A moan from behind him stalled his steps. He waited a beat but instead of footsteps heard cloth moving against cloth and a soft sigh. With a prayer he turned, holding his hand up over his face. Instead of the woman he saw only his sitting room or tea room or whatever the realtor had called it when he'd bought this place. It took him a moment to realize that there was a foot hanging over the edge of the loveseat.

He entered the room carefully, keeping his hand up just to be safe. As he came around to the front of the love seat he saw more of her. She'd taken her shoes off, though they were nowhere to be seen. The leg that was propped up was wrapped in bandages just below the knee and he could see a brown blood stain through the white gauze. The bottoms of the jeans were torn off, though he could tell that they were designer beneath the mud stains. Her plain white t-shirt was played up by her pink jacket, while her long blonde hair hid her face from view.

She shifted again while he watched, letting out a small moan and turning half over. His hand fell as she instinctively pushed the hair out of her face and he stared in shock.

Stella Malone.

Stella Malone was in his house. Stella Malone was sleeping in his loveseat.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: So, NaNo's over. I haven't finished my novel but I'm now free to work on other things too. To those of you who voted on the poll on my profile, thank you. Three Things was actually tied for first with two other stories (both of which I'll be working on in the next few days, probably today even), but From The End Of Heaven reviewed Macy-Bear and said that she'd been angry at me when she first saw it because she really wanted more of this. I decided to count that as an extra vote, so you can all thank her for getting this chapter today.

AN2: Sorry that I left you guys hanging where I did. I honestly thought I'd posted this chapter before NaNo started. I didn't know this was stuck on the cliffhanger ending until this morning. So really, my sincerest apologies.

Recap: When we last left Three Things, Joe (who has been cursed to be ugly) had just discovered that the woman he let stay over to escape the thunder storm was sleeping on his love seat and that she was, in fact, Stella Malone.

**Three Things**

V.

"_Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love." -- Charlie Brown_

He didn't know how long he stood there staring at her, only that it took a supreme amount of effort not to reach down and move a stray lock of hair away from her face. He ran a hand through his own hair, as if that would relieve the impulse. She was just as beautiful as ever, despite her rain-washed hair, rumpled top, and torn jeans. But then he'd always thought it silly that she insisted on wearing only the most trendy fashions, she would look perfect no matter what.

What was he thinking? He ran from the room, not caring if she woke up. Not until he was safely in his own room did he slow down to think. This had Macy written all over it. That manipulative little superfan had always pulled for him and Stella getting together. Was she trying to force Stella on him now in hopes that he would realize his love for her and break the curse? Yeah, right, because he didn't already know he was in love with Stella Malone.

But if Macy had done this, then Stella would already know who he was. He couldn't believe that she'd have spent the whole night in his house and not yelled at him once. She had to have seen the dust everywhere.

So that meant … what? She didn't know? Fate had just plopped Stella Malone on his doorstep by chance? Considering the last unexpected visitor he'd had, he could believe it. But if Fate thought that shoving Stella back into his life was going to miraculously bring them back together, Fate had another thing coming.

* * *

Stella carefully pushed the scrambled eggs onto two plates before rushing to the other side of the kitchen to pull the toast out of the toaster. She wished she knew how he liked it -- the two slices looked so forlorn beside the eggs -- but after he'd taken her in she didn't want to get this wrong. She'd just set the two plates on the table, along with various spreads, a pitcher of orange juice, and a vase with flowers she'd found in the garden, when the door swung open.

"Good morn--" she began, her voice failing her when she saw the figure in the doorway. He was a man, that much was for certain, but his head was covered by a brown paper bag.

"Sorry," he said and she wondered if the muffled sound of his voice was entirely due to the bag. "I know it must be surprising, but I'd rather protect my privacy."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're _that_ afraid of a little attention?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she sighed. "I made breakfast, as a thank you."

"With my food."

She bristled a bit, but refused to let him put her in a bad mood. "Well, I didn't exactly have time to go to the store." When she noticed him inspecting the plate she asked, "Care to try some? If you want I have three rock stars who I can call as references. They all love my cooking." That was a lie, the boys had avoided her cooking like the Plague, but she'd gotten better and could now cook a simple breakfast without sending anyone to the emergency room.

There was a choking sound from inside the bag and Stella frowned.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he muttered. "As you can see, I can't exactly eat like this."

She cocked her head to the side and smiled coyly. "I promise I won't tell anyone who you are. If I couldn't keep a secret, I wouldn't have any business. I'm a stylist. You would not believe how many fake breasts I've seen."

There was another choking sound and Stella walked around the table. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Positive," he snapped, backing away as she neared. "Did you get through to a tow company?"

She nodded. "They should be arriving within the hour. There were a few downed trees, so it's taking longer than usual."

"Good. When you're ready to leave, you can call me on the comm and I'll open the gate for you."

He turned and disappeared out the door. Stella let out a huff and fell into one of the chairs. She was just trying to be nice. He could have at least thanked her.

* * *

"Oh my gosh, Stella, are you okay?" Macy demanded several hours later.

"Fine," Stella sighed into the phone. She was now comfortably situated at Giselle's vacation house with a new rental car to boot. She'd been to a doctor and had her leg stitched up which meant she couldn't take the long, hot bath she'd dreamed of, but she was determined not to let it ruin her day. An obscene amount of junk food and a movie seemed a reasonable solution, but were cut off abruptly when Macy finally called her back.

"I'm so sorry I didn't call you sooner. I accidentally left my phone at the gym. So tell me everything. What happened after it started raining?"

"I went looking for help and, you'll be happy to know, I scaled a fence."

"Seriously?" Macy asked, real astonishment evident in her voice.

"Yep," Stella said proudly, deciding to take the win rather than focus on her friend's shock. "But it all went downhill from there. I ended up in this creepy house with a weird loner guy. I seriously thought I was going to end up on the six o'clock news with my face beside four other girls', whose bodies they found under his floorboards."

"Oh, Stella!"

"But it wasn't so bad. I slept on a love seat, which is probably where I got this crick in my neck, and got a tow first thing in the morning. He did insult my cooking though."

"Well, you do know --"

"Eggs and toast, Mace," Stella snapped. "I can make eggs and toast. Anyway, I haven't even told you the weirdest part -- and if I'd known this last night I probably would have taken my chances with the lightning. He was so freaked out about me invading his privacy that he wouldn't let me see his face. He wore a _paper bag _when he came downstairs in the morning. Can you believe it?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and Stella frowned. She'd expected Macy to be shocked, horrified even, but both of those would have included an outburst.

"Mace? Are you there? You know I'm okay, right? I mean, crazy guy is totally gone."

"Yeah, yeah," Macy said distantly. "So, what are you gonna do?"

"Eat junk food, watch a lame movie," Stella said with a shrug Macy couldn't see.

"About the guy."

Stella's frown deepened. "That _is_ what I'm gonna do about the guy. I plan on purging him from my mind through mindless pop culture fun."

"Oh."

She sounded so forlorn that Stella felt herself getting depressed in sympathy. "I know what this is about," she said, forcing a happier tone, "you miss adventure."

"What?"

"You miss all those crazy adventures we used to have in high school. Like getting rid of Fiona Skye and making a thousand glitter stars in one night and getting that limited edition guitar pick out of Frankie's stomach before his parents' found out."

"Yeah, that didn't work out so well," Macy chuckled.

"And because you miss that, you want me to have some weird adventure with crazy guy so you can live vicariously through me."

"Exactly!" Macy said, far too eagerly for someone admitting to manipulating their friend. Stella shrugged it off, figuring that Macy was always overexcited about something.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not going back there just so your life can be less boring."

"But he sounded so sad," Macy said. "All alone in that big house, no one even knowing who he is. You could probably bring him out of his shell. And," she added, almost as an afterthought, "you don't really know anyone in LA."

Stella pulled the phone away from her ear and check the caller ID again. This _was_ Macy Misa talking. Her best friend since freshman year. "Macy," she said slowly, "are you seriously encouraging me to go back to the death house just so crazy guy doesn't have to live out the rest of his life in self-imposed isolation?"

"Um…," Macy said slowly and at least had the decency to sound sheepish.

"He wore a _paper bag_ over his head, Mace! He's probably some deranged serial killer!"

"But if he was a serial killer, you'd already be dead."

Stella frowned, her confusion over Macy's behavior forgotten in the search for a suitable argument. "And what if he likes to play with his victims? You read _Dracula_! He tortured and murdered almost everyone in Mina's life!"

"Dracula isn't real, honey," Macy said sagely.

"But crazy guy is and I'm not going to go back there without a good reason."

"Fine," Macy sighed and Stella quickly changed the subject.

Macy immediately began catching her up-to-date with stories about Kevin and Nick and Frankie's girl friend -- that was, his friend who happened to be a girl, the youngest Lucas was very adamant about that fact. But Stella was only half-listening. She couldn't help but wonder about the crazy guy and just what would make a man hide away from the world like that. Was he really crazy? Dangerously crazy? He _had_ helped her, after all, and if he wasn't all loner-y she probably would have brought him a thank you present by now. She mulled it over until she hung up with Macy, knowing she would never remember any of what her friend had said, and her thoughts remained focused on her mystery man long into the night.

* * *

_reviews = love_


	6. Chapter 6

**Three Things**

VI.

"_I can still see you when I sleep…" -- Toby Keith, "We Were In Love"_

Joe stumbled down the stairs, only half awake. He hadn't slept well. Again. He kept having the same dream over and over.

He was back at Horace Mantis, talking to his brothers and trying to understand Kevin's latest animal analogy. When he gave up and started heading for his next class Macy would appear at the end of the hall, screaming her fangirl head off. She was so loud that the lockers began to shake.

Then Kevin, being an idiot, yelled, "Quick, we need to give her an autograph! Does anyone have a pen?"

Of course, since this was a dream, Joe couldn't move when it was really important, but instead of being stabbed by a million pens, he felt only one. It went through his back and stopped halfway out of his chest. He looked down in shock.

"Oh no!" he heard Stella cry behind him. She grabbed the back of his collar and pulled his shirt off with one quick tug, spinning him around as she did. "Your shirt!" She held it up to him so he could see that it was dripping with blue ink.

He looked down at the pen again. "My heart!" he cried.

"Oh, silly," Stella said and he looked up at her. In her hand she held a giant candy heart with "Joe" written on it. It beat a steady rhythm that matched the one echoing in his ears. "You know I've always got that."

"What about yours?" he asked.

She held up another heart, this one read "Stella," and he gaped. "You didn't think I'd give it to you, did you?"

Laughter filled the suddenly full hallway. His brothers were there and Macy and every girl he'd ever chased after. He felt his chest go numb and realized that he couldn't live without a heart. As he fell to his knees Van Dyke stepped out of the crowd and pulled Stella into a crushing kiss.

It was at that point that he usually woke up, too tired to get out of bed and do something but reluctant to fall asleep once more and find himself in the dream again.

"Coffee," he muttered as he crossed the foyer. He needed some so badly he almost thought he could smell it. He yawned loudly as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Whoa!" Stella yelled and Joe froze, the swinging door hitting him in the arm.

What was she doing in his kitchen? How had she gotten back into the house? What was going on? Was this another dream?

She stood with her back to him beside the stove where pancakes were cooking. In one hand she had a spatula and with the other she was covering her eyes.

"You can either use the paper bag again," she said, "or you can use one of the many, fashionable masks I've brought for you." She gestured with the spatula and he saw over a dozen masks laid out on the counter beside the paper bag, in which she'd cut a mouth hole.

All of the masks covered at least the top half of the face and they came in all colors, not just the usual black.

"Could you hurry, please?" she asked. "I'd rather the pancakes didn't burn."

He winced at the idea of eating her pancakes and quickly grabbed a black mask that covered most of his face. "Okay," he said, lowering his voice and adding a bit of gravel to the sound. "I'm ready."

She didn't turn to look at him, but instead went back to flipping the pancakes. He watched her as she transferred them to a plate and poured out new circles of batter. Why had he chosen one of her masks? Why not just put on the bag again? He was less likely to be recognized that way. Granted, he hadn't styled his hair yet and he was wearing the grungiest clothes he owned, but Stella had known him his entire life. Then again, he thought, they hadn't seen each other in two years. Maybe she wouldn't know it was him.

"There's fresh grapes on the table if you want some," she said over her shoulder. "And I just made a fresh pot of coffee."

He sniffed at the fruit bowl, ignoring the coffee completely. He didn't remember getting any grapes with this week's grocery delivery.

"Where did these come from?" he asked, almost forgetting to disguise his voice.

"I bought them," she said primly. "You seemed so annoyed yesterday when I used your food, that I went out and bought some breakfast basics. Pancakes'll be ready in a minute."

He nodded even though she wasn't looking his way and settled into one of the chairs. He wasn't quite sure how to handle this situation, especially without giving himself away.

"How did you even get in?" he asked finally.

She turned off the stove and flipped the last two pancakes onto a plate, then brought it and a bottle of maple syrup over to the table. "Well," she said, "I brought a ladder, because I wasn't about to climb that gate of yours again, but when I got here your gardener pulled up and was kind enough to let me in."

"And how did you get into the house?" he asked tightly, wondering how hard it would be to hire a new gardener given his current state.

She sat down herself and smiled at him. "The front door was unlocked."

The haze that had settled around him when she smiled vanished instantly and he closed his eyes in annoyance. He'd forgotten to make sure the front door was locked after she left!

"For someone trying to avoid the world, you don't take many precautions."

He glared at her. "I didn't exactly expect anyone to come waltzing in the front door."

"I don't waltz," she said, still smiling. She pulled a pancake from the communal platter onto her own plate and said, "Try some," before taking a bite herself.

"You don't have to do this," he said, eying the food critically.

"I know, but I want to."

Joe frowned, he didn't like where this was going.

He took a bite of his pancake and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was actually good. Apparently, Stella's cooking had improved a _lot_. He began gobbling them down eagerly.

When he reached for his third one she said, "I'm Stella. Stella Malone."

He stopped, the pancake halfway between the platter and his plate.

"You don't have to tell me your whole name," she said. "Just a first name or a middle name or --"

"Paolo," he said suddenly. "You can call me Paolo."

Her smile widened and he realized he'd made her good and truly happy with just that little bit of information. It almost made him sorry that it was a lie.

* * *

Stella preened all through breakfast. Granted, all she'd learned about crazy guy was that he had black hair and his name was Paolo, but it was a start. When they'd both finished eating she set to work doing the dishes. She'd already done a load that morning shortly after arriving. When she'd checked to see if the dishwasher had run its cycle she found it almost overflowing with dishes. It made her shudder just to think about what she'd seen in there.

"You don't have to do that," he said quickly when she began filling the sink with water.

"I want to," she repeated.

"But …," he said desperately. "I'm sure you have work to do … or something."

"I'm on vacation."

"Then you don't want to spend it here, cleaning up after me. You should go."

"Actually," she said, testing the water's temperature before loading dishes in the sink, "this is kind of a forced vacation. So I'd rather take my mind off it and lucky for you, cleaning takes my mind off my problems."

Okay, that was a lie, but Paolo didn't have to know that. She began scrubbing the pan she'd cooked the pancakes on, smiling as she remembered a long ago afternoon when she, Macy, and the Lucas brothers had spent hours trying to clean what was supposed to be a chocolate cake off the counter, floor, walls, and even ceiling of the Home Economics room. She'd yelled at the boys so much that afternoon, that she couldn't say a word the next day.

"Well, okay then," Paolo said. "Thank you and … you can let yourself out when you're done, I guess."

Stella bit her lip to keep from laughing. She wasn't going to be done for quite a while.

* * *

Joe took a shower after breakfast, wondering the whole time what had happened to bring Stella back into his life. He wasn't naïve enough to think that she would leave today and never come back. Now that she'd managed to come back once she was sure to come back again and again until her curiosity was satisfied. She probably wanted to find out who he was.

He groaned, pulling a new shirt over his head. If he was anyone else he would just tell her so she'd leave him alone. But he wasn't anyone else and if she found out she would never let him hear the end of it … assuming of course that she didn't run screaming at the sight of him.

He grabbed his cell phone off his bedside table and hit a few buttons. Macy didn't pick up and he couldn't quite bring himself to leave a message after kicking her out. He considered calling his brothers but thought better of it and headed downstairs to lock the front door in hopes of keeping Stella out next time.

He was shocked to find that every surface in the foyer had been dusted and the carpet was newly vacuumed. The kitchen door began swinging open and he spun around, holding his hand over his face.

Stella clucked in disapproval behind him. "Why do you think I brought those masks?" she asked. "Hold on."

Several moments later he felt her walk up behind him and tensed.

"Put your arms down," she said and he could feel her breath on the back of his neck. "I promise I won't look," she added when he didn't move.

With some effort he forced himself to lower his hands and immediately she tied one of the masks around his head, carefully avoiding tying his hair up in the string. When she finished he turned, flipping the wet hair out of his eyes as he did so.

"I thought I told you to leave," he said.

She blinked at him for a moment before saying, "You said to let myself out when I was done -- and I'm not done yet."

"You know," he said, watching as she picked up a broom and headed down the hall, "if I really wanted the place cleaned I'd hire someone!"

She waved him off and went to work cleaning his dining room.

"Just don't go upstairs!" he called sadly.

Figuring there wasn't much he could do he headed upstairs to try going about his day like she wasn't there. That proved to be impossible. It may not have been so bad if he actually had something he needed to do, but he was basically spending all his days chilling in front of the TV and daytime soaps weren't nearly as interesting as the thought of Stella in his house.

* * *

"No one move!" Macy yelled, bursting into the Lucas' kitchen.

"Macy!" Mrs. Lucas said, trying to cover up her shock by being a good hostess. "What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were off today."

"So did I," Kevin muttered, looking forlornly at his towering sandwich and pile of potato chips.

"Oh, hush," Macy snapped, "I'm not here to train you. Though, if I was, I'd tell you to eat only half that."

Kevin debated the matter for a moment before pushing half his chips onto a smiling Frankie's plate.

"Then why are you here?" Mr. Lucas asked.

"I … need to talk to Kevin about a new trick for the show. I think the fans will really love it if he can pull it off during 'Tonight.'"

"Oh, well then, why don't you tell us about it?"

Macy looked from Kevin to Mr. Lucas and back again desperately.

"Um …," Kevin said, "don't you have that call? The important one?"

"I don't think so," he said, looking through his appointment list on his phone.

"Well," Macy said, she and Kevin already halfway up the stairs, "we'll just let you figure it out then. Bye!"

Mr. Lucas looked up at his wife. "Are those two secretly dating?"

"God, I hope so."

Upstairs Kevin turned to Macy with wide eyes. "Did Joe call? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. Everything's great actually."

"Why?" Frankie asked.

"Ah!" Kevin and Macy cried.

"Where did he come from?" Macy asked.

"Sorry," Kevin said while Frankie took a seat on the couch, "ever since that date with Zora--"

"It wasn't a date!" Frankie snapped.

Kevin ignored him, "--he's picked up a few bad habits."

Macy shook her head. "Anyway," she said, "guess who called me last night."

"The President of the United States?" Kevin asked.

Frankie slapped his forehead and Macy smiled.

"No, Stella! She's taking an impromptu vacation and ran into some car trouble. She ended up at the house of some crazy hermit who, when she finally met him at breakfast the next morning, wore a paper bag over his head."

Frankie gaped, his smile so wide he was in danger of hurting himself, while Kevin frowned.

"How is that a good thing?" he asked.

"It's Joe!" Frankie snapped.

"I know that! But how do we know it really is Joe? It could just be some crazy guy in a paper bag."

Macy smiled and began digging in her purse. "I told Stella that she should go back to crazy guy, bring him out of his shell, and even though she said she wasn't going to do it, look who called me this morning." She held up her phone so they could see the caller ID. "Joe hasn't called me in weeks! I refuse to believe that he would call me out of the blue for something unrelated to the Stella situation. It's just too much of a coincidence. So no answering your phones!" she snapped. "At least not for Joe."

"What about Stella?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah," Frankie agreed, "and what if she finds out it's Joe and calls Mom and Dad first? What if she tells them he's all ugly and gross?"

"He's not gross," Macy said without much conviction. "And if Stella calls, you better answer, just to be safe. I'll call Nick when I leave and I'll talk to Stella tonight, hopefully everything goes well."

Kevin looped his arm around her shoulders. "As long as you're here, you can have lunch!"

"Aren't you two forgetting something?" Frankie asked. "The lie Macy told Dad?"

"Oh," Macy said, deflating slightly. She shrugged and gave Kevin a smile. "Looks like we'll have to come up with something."

"Joy," Kevin muttered.

* * *

Okay, maybe the masks weren't the best idea, Stella thought as she dusted the library shelves. When she'd found him in the foyer hiding his face she'd almost laughed. If she forgot how mildly creepy it was that he hid his face constantly, it was kind of cute how hard he tried. And the masks, wow! Apparently she'd seen _Phantom of the Opera _one too many times if a guy putting on a mask was enough to make her romantic radar perk up. That she'd had to help him put it on hadn't helped either.

Why couldn't she have grabbed a mask with an elastic band? Now, every time she brushed her hair back or scratched her nose she could smell his shampoo. But she could have handled all of that if only he hadn't flipped his hair out of his eyes. It was just so … something. That one, innocent act had weakened her knees and started her thinking thoughts that were not at all appropriate.

She smiled when she saw a copy of _Peter Pan_. It had been her favorite book when she was little and she and Joe had spent hours acting it out in the park. Though he often complained he'd still come along whenever she asked. Her copy of the book had gotten lost over the years and she couldn't help but pull this one from the shelf. The door opened just as she started flipping through the book.

"Hello," she said happily.

"What are you doing?" Paolo asked.

"I used to have this book when I was a kid, same edition. I couldn't help but take a look."

Paolo crossed the room quickly and pulled the book from her hands. He replaced it on the shelf, his hands lingering over the books. "Thank you," he said, not looking at her.

"No problem," she said. "You really should get someone in here to clean, you know."

"Why?" he asked, turning around and leaning against the shelf with a smirk. "I have you."

She rolled her eyes and dusted around him, purposefully sending dust flying in his direction. He coughed and she giggled. Their eyes met and she felt her heart speed up at the look he was giving her.

He took a deliberate step away and asked, "How much longer is this going to take?"

Stella focused on dusting, trying to force away the feelings whirling inside her. "Why?" she asked lightly. "Do you have a hot date?"

"No," he said.

She frowned, something about the way he said it was almost _too_ sincere. "I'll stop once I finish in here."

"Why? Do _you_ have a hot date?"

She didn't miss his carefully detached tone. "No," she said, biting back a smile, "I have a few errands to run."

"Oh, good! I didn't want you hanging out here anyway."

She chose to ignore that comment. "There's a roast in the slow cooker. It should be done around six tonight. I figured you needed something more substantial to eat."

"I don't need you cooking for me," he said, leaving the library. "And I'll be sure to lock the door behind you this time!"

She waved him off with a grin.

* * *

"Okay, Joe, you can do better than this. You can totally resist Stella Malone's charms. She's gonna be gone soon and then it'll all be over."

Joe paused his pacing and glanced out the window. He could see Stella loading the cleaning supplies back into her car in the driveway.

"Who am I kidding?" he sighed. "She probably changed the locks by now. There is no way to keep her from coming back if she wants to." He ran a hand over his face. "And as for resisting her charms …" He let out a harsh laugh as Stella waved and smiled at the gardener over the roof of the car. That was Stella Malone down there, the only crush he had ever had that managed to last more than a few weeks. He'd loved her since she cleaned chocolate milk off his shirt when they were kids.

"Oh boy," he moaned and sagged against the wall. "I'm hopeless."

His only hope was if somehow, by some miracle, she didn't come back.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

**Three Things**

VII.

"_The jealous bring down the curse they fear upon their own heads." -- Dorothy Dix_

This was what staying in LA was supposed to be like: drinking coffee on the patio of a cute little café, wiling away a lazy afternoon with some people-watching. Stella sighed contentedly, sipping at her drink and cupping her hands around it to take in the warmth. It was still chilly out and, though she was used to much worse, it was nice to warm up a bit.

A small cough behind her drew her attention and she looked up into a pair of dark green eyes.

"Do you mind?" the man asked, flashing her a dazzling smile. "It's a bit crowded and I couldn't help but notice that you were all alone."

Stella stared a moment longer than was polite before shaking herself out of it. How often did she get the chance to have coffee with a hot guy? Okay, often, but most of those guys were models. "Go ahead," she said, hating that her voice was goofy and sighy, but unable to stop it.

His smile widened and he reached for the chair across from her.

"Oh! Not there!" Stella said quickly.

He frowned, then noticed her foot on the seat and quickly took the seat to her left. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked kindly.

"Yeah, I -- it's a long story," she finished quickly, feeling a bit sheepish. "But the end is that I got stitches and my leg's been sore all afternoon." She shouldn't have pushed herself at Paolo's house. Standing for as long as she had was a strain on her bruised leg and it hadn't helped when she bumped it getting out of the rental car just before coming into the café.

"Ouch," he said sincerely. "I'm David, by the way."

"Stella," she said, shaking his offered hand.

"If you're not busy," he said, "I'm always up for a long story, especially when a pretty girl's telling it."

She didn't try hiding her blush. "No," she said, "it's too embarrassing."

"Okay," Dave said, "so how about you tell me what you're doing in town?"

"How did you know I was from out of town?"

He shrugged. "Most people I meet are."

"Well," she said, taking another sip as she mentally formed her answer, "you know those love stories about people who were meant to be from the time they were in diapers? Stories about kids who grew up together and always loved each other in a way that grew and matured with them until it was this beautiful, romantic thing?"

"Yeah," Dave said slowly, leaning back in his chair. He was clearly a bit put off by the way the conversation was going.

"I thought I had one of those. And then a few years ago I realized it wasn't happening, we just weren't meant to be, so I left." She stared down at her drink, watching the way the foam moved when she spun the cup between her hands. "I'm supposed to be working at the fashion show in Paris, but then I heard he's in France and -- I decided it was time for a vacation." She looked up at him with a wry smile. "I suppose that makes me a coward."

He reached across the table and took her hand. "Not at all. You're protecting yourself and that's important. You'll face your past when you're ready."

She returned his smile, thankful for the reassurance of his hand on hers. Suddenly she broke the contact and laughed. "Not exactly the kind of conversation you expected, I'm guessing."

"No," he admitted, "but it may be better."

"Your turn," she said, ignoring the way her heart fluttered when he smiled, "what are you doing in town?"

By the time the sun set and Dave walked her to her car she'd learned that he worked for a production company and lived outside the city only because it cut the commute to his parents' place in half. He liked dogs but didn't have the time to devote to one, ran at least two marathons a year, and had a scar just below his hairline from when he was fifteen and took a nasty fall during a basketball game. He also loved music, which was what they were on as they walked the darkening streets.

"It was definitely the best concert I've ever been to," he finished.

She nodded then, against her better judgment, asked, "What about the tween-oriented artists that came out around the turn of the century? Like JONAS?"

Dave pulled a face. "Honestly? I don't really care for them."

Stella wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but she was willing to find out.

* * *

"Kill me now," Kevin whined from where he lay on the floor. He and Macy had spent all day trying to create a new routine and now that it was long past everyone's bedtime he'd finally gotten Macy to stop forcing him to practice. Though, he thought it probably had more to do with Stella calling than anything else.

"If I put her on speaker so you can hear, will you get over it?" Macy asked, sitting on the couch.

Kevin nodded weakly and Macy flipped her phone open. "Hey, Stell, how's California?"

"Wonderful!" Stella said and Kevin sat up, his eyes wide with hope.

"Really?" Macy asked, biting back her smile. "So you've gotten over that creepy hermit trouble?"

"Oh. Well, I took your advice and went back to see him. He wasn't very nice but I got him to open up a bit."

Macy gave Kevin a meaningful glance, raising her eyebrows as if to say, "See? I told you it would work," but Kevin only frowned. Stella's tone didn't exactly fill him with optimism.

"But that's not why I called!" Stella barreled on. "You'll never believe the guy I met today."

Macy's smile disappeared as Stella continued, describing her afternoon. "That's great, Stella," she said and Kevin was impressed that she could pull off the fake excitement. "Listen, I've got Kevin here, so I should go."

"Oh," Stella said slyly, "if you finally get up the guts to jump him, I expect details."

Macy blushed crimson and Kevin looked away, both to save Macy's pride and to hide his grin.

"Okay!" Macy said quickly. "I'll talk to you later!"

"Bye!"

Macy let out a long breath in the silence after she shut her phone. Kevin peeked at her from the corner of his eye.

"So," he said, hoping to get the conversation going but unable to think of anything to say.

"Stella met a guy," Macy said sadly. "This is bad."

"Why?" Kevin asked.

"Kevin! I can't believe you just asked that! If Stella falls for this other guy then Joe's back to his old helpless self!"

"I know, but … Nick once said that he didn't blame Stella for leaving."

"Well, of course, no one _blames_ Stella --"

"No, he didn't mean it like that. He said that he didn't blame her because she deserves her happy ending, even if it's not with Joe. If Joe's just going to be a jerk, even after Fate gave him a second chance with Stella … maybe he doesn't deserve her."

Macy slid to the floor so she could sit beside him and rest her head petulantly on his shoulder. "I guess so. But if I could choose, I'd want Stella to have her happily ever after with Joe."

"I know," Kevin said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "we all would, even Stella and Joe."

* * *

"Morning," Stella said when Joe came down for breakfast the next morning.

He wasn't at all surprised to find her making waffles and eagerly dug into the food. Now that he knew she wasn't a horrible cook anymore and had somewhat resigned himself to her hanging around, he was forced to admit that he missed real cooking. He could handle little things but most of his meals consisted of one dish that took minimal effort.

Regardless, he didn't want Stella thinking he would just put up with her. "Don't you have someone else to bother?" he asked.

"Says the man gobbling down my waffles," Stella said sarcastically.

He didn't have an answer for that so he took an extra large bite. She laughed and took her seat across the table, digging into her own meal. Her phone went off seconds later and she stared at the caller ID for two full rings.

"Aren't you gonna answer that?" Joe asked.

She blinked at him but quickly did as he asked, stepping away from the table for some semblance of privacy. "Hello, Stella Malone speaking…. Oh! Hi, Dave!"

_Dave?_ Joe wondered, frowning behind his mask. Since when did Stella know anyone named Dave?

"You know," she was saying, teasing, _flirting_, "most guys would wait a day or two before calling. … Really? You don't think it just makes you seem desperate? … Well, maybe not." She giggled.

Giggled! Joe tried not to throw up and instead cut viciously at his waffles.

"Tonight? Sounds great. I'll meet you there. … Kay, bye."

When she resumed her seat she let out a contented little sigh. Joe speared a waffle piece and tore into it mercilessly, watching her moon over Dave, whoever he was.

"I was thinking," she said when he reached for thirds, "there's really not much more I can do around the house. I'm not handy enough to fix that hole in the wall and if you won't let me do anything upstairs there's no cleaning left."

Joe tried to keep his fork and knife moving so she wouldn't see how much the news shocked him. She could leave if she wanted to. He didn't want her here in the first place and now she had _Dave_ to keep her busy.

"So," she continued, "I figured I should do what I do best. Your wardrobe is disgraceful, even for slumming it around your mansion."

The knife and fork clattered onto the plate as Joe thought of what it would be like to have Stella dressing him again.

"I promise I won't go overboard but --"

"Why are you doing this?" he asked abruptly, his heart hammering in his chest.

Her bright smile faded and he could see her confidence failing. "I -- I just want to thank you for the other night."

"Well, you have." He stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I don't need your help and I don't want it."

"But --"

Joe turned and left, taking the stairs two at a time to escape her faster. When he heard a distant door slam, he couldn't even pretend to be satisfied.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

AN: The Horace Mantis Awards nominations came out today and as a celebration I (finally) wrote a new chapter. Actually, I wrote two, so that should be coming soon. Thanks to everyone who nominated me! Just seeing my name up there made my day.

**Three Things**

VIII.

_If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden. -- Claudia Ghandi_

It was the best date Stella had been on in over a year, which wasn't saying much since it was also the **first** date she'd been on in over a year. Dave had taken her to a small club where they watched an up-and-coming musician. The style of music wasn't her cup of tea, but having spent the majority of her adolescence with JONAS had forced her to respect music she normally would have frowned upon.

Stella sighed, annoyed with herself. She was on a date with a cute guy and still she was thinking about JONAS. She really needed a life.

"Something wrong?" Dave asked, looking at her over his menu. He'd taken her to an upscale restaurant after the club. It wasn't so upscale that she saw any celebrities, for which she was grateful. She didn't want to be recognized and then have the pop culture rumor mill cranking out theories regarding whether or not she was hiding from Joe Lucas.

"Nothing," she said, pasting on a bright smile, "I was just admiring that painting over there."

Dave turned awkwardly in his chair and nodded. "I love the way the artist uses light, it's very calming."

Stella realized that she now had to actually look at the painting. "Yeah," she said, trying to tell if it was a painting of flowers or boats or if it was one of those annoying paintings where it wasn't anything at all. "It's very … atmospheric."

"Do you know what you're getting?" Dave asked, turning back to her.

"I'm not sure," she said, though she had several options she was considering, "what about you?"

"The duck, I think," he said just as the waitress came up to take their orders. He looked at Stella questioningly and she looked down at her menu, ordering the first thing she saw. When the waitress left Dave asked, "You said you were in fashion? How did you get interested in that?"

"I've always loved clothes and accessorizing. Even when I was little I brought a purse to school, and it always had to match my shoes."

Dave laughed and Stella felt her heart clench as she remembered a Penelope Peach Pit purse full of plum pudding. Couldn't she go five minutes without thinking of him?

"Have you designed anything I'd recognize?"

"Well," she said slowly, thinking back on what she'd designed over the last couple of years, "did you see Sonny Monroe at the Oscars?"

"I'm not sure. Here." He dug his phone out of his pocket and began searching the internet for a picture.

"Oh, stop," Stella said, "if you're just going to look it up I can show you my picture of it." She reached into her purse for her phone but couldn't feel it's familiar shape. Confused, she pulled her purse into her lap and dug around. Seconds later she realized, with some amount of horror, that her phone was gone. "Oh no," she breathed.

"What?"

"I lost my phone," she said, even as she continued digging through the small bag.

"Where was the last place you had it?"

She bit back the impulse to snap, "If I knew that it wouldn't be lost!" and instead said, "I don't know."

"Well, I called you. Did anyone else after that?"

Stella stopped searching as she thought. "No," she said, "no one else called."

"So where were you when you took my call?"

Stella sighed heavily. "I know where it is. Unfortunately."

"Why unfortunately?"

She smiled sheepishly. "I left it at someone's house. We sort of had a fight and I stormed out."

"Are you sure it's at their house?"

Stella nodded. "I put it on the table when I sat down and I don't remember picking it up again. It's gotta be there."

"Well, you can call them on my phone --" he held his out to her but she shook her head.

"I don't know their number," she said sheepishly.

He smiled. "Yeah. I'd be lost without my contacts list. We can go get it if you want. We can still cancel our order."

Stella shook her head emphatically. "No. I'll get it myself. Tomorrow. I can live without my phone for a little while. I'm on vacation, after all."

Dave nodded encouragingly while inside Stella winced. She hadn't gone twenty-four hours without her phone since her junior year of high school when she'd made that stupid bet with Macy. Sure, she was better now -- that she'd been without her phone for nearly a whole day and not noticed was evidence of that -- but she was still a businesswoman. What if Christopher Wilde had a fashion emergency and asked for her specifically? She would hate herself forever if she missed out on that opportunity. But she had her pride. She wasn't about to burst into Paolo's life anymore than she had to. She could stop by tomorrow, at a reasonable hour. She'd use the doorbell and everything.

She pointedly ignored the butterflies that fluttered about when she thought of going back to the mansion and focused on the movie Dave was working on.

* * *

For what had to be the twentieth time that day, Joe walked into the kitchen. He stayed just inside the doorway and stared at the table. He'd gone further in only once, when he was too hungry to stay out, but even then he'd kept to the edges of the room, working quickly because he could feel it _staring_ at him.

Stella's cell phone.

The first time he'd come in after their fight he stopped dead in the doorway, blinking at the thing like it was a mirage that would disappear if only he focused hard enough on it. But it hadn't and he'd been drawn back to it time and time again as the day wore on.

If he were at all objective he'd admit that he came back because it was _Stella's_ cell phone. It was a piece of her, a link to her, and a promise that she'd be back soon. But, of course, he wasn't at all objective and could only stare pathetically at it, unable to figure out _why_. Why did he keep coming back? Why had Stella shown up on his doorstep of all doorsteps? Why couldn't he just tell her to get lost the way he had everyone else?

Instead of actually trying to figure out the answers he got angry at the phone. It was small and inanimate and completely incapable of defending itself, which made it the perfect object to take his anger out on. He stomped up to the table and grabbed it, seriously considering throwing it against the wall and telling Stella he hadn't seen it, but it rang before he could pull his hand back all the way.

He yelped, juggling the glowing phone between his hands. When he finally got a good hold on it once more he looked at the caller ID and saw Macy's name. The song playing was some old Hannah Montana song. He thought it was called "True Friend" or something like that. He frowned, sinking into a chair and remembering when each of Stella's ringtones were JONAS songs. The song stopped and seconds later a text message alert came up.

Joe debated looking at it before deciding he wasn't a horrible person.

He was still a bad person, though, and quickly pulled up her ringtone list. Replacing each of her pre-programmed chimes with a JONAS song sounded like the perfect way to vent. Before charging all that money to her account though, he checked to see if she had any of their songs already in her phone. He was seriously beginning to think she'd completely abandoned all association with the band when he found it. "Love Sick." He hit play without thinking and recognized it as the version from when he'd actually been sick during their TV performance.

The gentle notes of the song finished and he noticed the icon next to the title, indicating that it was a ringtone. He hit the button to see who it was for, but he already knew the answer.

* * *

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	9. Chapter 9

AN: FFN is being mean and not letting me upload documents. Thankfully, I'm bad about deleting old ones so I just copy and pasted. Unfortunately, that means there might be some formatting issues. I fixed all I found, but I'm sorry if I missed any.

**Three Things**

IX.

_"Here's how it goes:_  
_Boy meets girl,_  
_Girl leaves boy"_  
_-- Carrie Underwood, "Quitter"_

There was no answer when she rang the bell but the gardener let her in and she snuck around to the kitchen entrance, hoping that her phone would be sitting on the table where she'd left it and she could get in and out without having to face him. The kitchen was mostly dark, the only light streaming in through the window over the sink. She closed the door gently behind her and turned.

"Hi."

Stella paused, her eyes adjusting. Paolo sat, facing the door like he was waiting for her.

"Hi," she said.

His eyes shifted behind the mask and his hands fidgeted on the table. Her cell phone slid across the table, slowing to a stop inches before the edge.

"I'm sorry," he said, smiling nervously up at her. "I shouldn't have been rude to you."

That smile undid her. She let out a long breath and walked forward, leaving her anger over the morning before behind her. "And I shouldn't have pushed you. If you want to live in self-imposed isolation, it's none of my business." She grabbed her phone and turned to go. "Thanks for everything."

"I don't want to."

She stopped, wondering if she'd imagined the sound under the creak of the door opening.

A chair scraped loudly against the floor in the silence and he breathed deep. "I don't want to live in self-imposed isolation," he said, his voice an odd mix of vulnerability and humor.

Stella smiled to herself and closed the door. "Well then, we can work on that."

* * *

Joe wasn't at all ashamed to say that he couldn't concentrate. He was sitting on the floor of his bedroom and was supposed to be looking through the magazines Stella had brought in from her car, searching for looks that he thought fit him, but with Stella going in and out of his closet, there was really no chance he'd keep his focus.

He'd spent several minutes down in the kitchen wondering what he was going to do. He should have just let her walk out the door, regardless of how low he'd been feeling with her gone. But he still couldn't go out in public and he certainly couldn't tell her why. Eventually he'd decided it was too late for now and to just let her do her job. She was on vacation, after all, and would have to leave soon enough. In the meantime he could enjoy her company a little while longer.

She kept going in and out, tossing articles of clothing on the bed with a face that made him fight back laughter. Clearly, she was less than impressed by his clothing choices in the years since she'd left. That was understandable. He'd always stayed just this side of the fashion do's and don'ts pages, but had tried a few more outrageous styles in ill-conceived attempts to bring her back.

Luckily, post-Stella he'd boxed up every piece of clothing he'd owned while she was his stylist. He was pretty sure they were upstairs or in the firehouse somewhere, but there was definitely no chance of Stella finding them by looking through his closet.

He forced himself to look away from her. If he didn't at least try to focus she'd be hurt.

Two magazines later he arched his back and rolled his head from side to side, only to notice Stella staring. She leaned against the doorjamb and an ugly rust red jacket hung from her folded arms.

"How did it happen?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, fighting the urge to wipe his suddenly wet palms on his jeans.

"I don't -- I don't mean your --" She let out a sigh and he bit back a grimace. "How did you end up all alone like this? It had to be more than just --" She looked away quickly, color rising in her cheeks.

He'd told her he didn't want to be seen for privacy's sake, but once he admitted he wanted to be around people more the only reasonable excuse for keeping the mask on was a physical deformity. It was still sort of the truth, and it wasn't like she'd outright asked him, but it was clear she was thinking it.

He looked down at the patterned carpet, shrugging his shoulders and deciding on the truth. "A girl."

"Tale as old as time," she muttered.

He chuckled darkly and met her eyes with a self-deprecating smile. "Yeah. Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love with girl. Boy putzes around for over a decade, wasting his time and making girl's life all sorts of miserable. Girl gets fed up and leaves."

Stella shifted, her hold on the jacket tightening as her gaze moved to an uninteresting bit of wall. Even though she was hurting he still hoped she was thinking of him -- the real him, not Paolo.

She moved to the bed, laying the jacket out atop the pile much more delicately than the other clothes and quietly asked, "Was it before or after?"

"Before," he said quickly. "Much before."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Me too," he said, thinking of all the times he should have done something.

Stella's shoulders rolled back and she marched over to him, taking a seat beside him.

"See anything you like?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said and handed her the pile of magazines he'd already gone through. He'd marked anything he liked by folding the pages in half, just the way she had when they were eleven and she spent her days dreaming of being a world famous designer. He hadn't realized he was doing it until he was halfway through the pile and by then going back would have been too conspicuous. All the same, she didn't seem to notice as she quickly flipped through the magazines.

"You have a good eye," she said when she finished and grabbed a magazine from the pile he had yet to go through. "You just have to learn not to go along with idiotic trends." Her voice grew oddly quiet at the end of the statement and he glanced at her. She bit her lip as color drained from her face.

"What --" he began, then noticed the magazine in her hands. It was open to a two-page spread on "Joe Lucas" sightings in France. Joe winced. Paolo was doing a good job. The paparazzi had barely any photos of him and none of them were clear enough to give anyone the idea that he wasn't the real Joe Lucas.

Joe swallowed and began again. "Something wrong?"

Stella looked up sharply, her eyes overly bright. "No," she said quickly, flipping the magazine so fast the page tore slightly. "Everything's fine. Why do you ask?"

He smiled. "Because everything isn't fine."

She sagged. "Am I that obvious?"

He didn't answer, only waited for her to explain, his heart thundering in his ears in anticipation.

"That story you told? Boy meets girl, girl leaves? Throw in a rock band and some plum pudding and you've got my story."

"You left him?" Joe asked, fighting to hide the tremor in his voice.

She nodded, her eyes on the magazine. She flipped it shut and tossed it aside before fisting her hands on her knees. "I couldn't do it anymore. It wasn't his fault. I was the one who said I didn't want to risk the band just for us but -- I also couldn't watch him be with other people. I know I sound terribly selfish and childish, but at least I had the good sense to leave, right? That's what I tell myself anyway. I could have just kept going and by now I'd probably have had a major bitch-attack and completely destroyed everything we'd all worked for. This is better. The band's still going and I've got a career and apparently he's got a secret girlfriend in France. Everyone's good."

Joe took shallow breaths. This was nothing new. He'd always known why Stella had left, but hearing her say it, seeing her try to hold back tears -- it broke his heart in a whole new way.

He rested his hand over hers, squeezing gently. After several long moments she turned her hand over and held his.

"He's an idiot," Joe said quietly. "He should have gone after you, should have promised you anything to make you stay. Only an idiot would let you get away."

Stella wiped her eyes with her free hand. "Well," she said, a wavering smile on her face, "I was pretty determined to go."

"Still," he said, "total idiot."

When she looked up at him gratefully he squeezed her hand and leaned his shoulder playfully into hers. She giggled, leaning back before they settled into place. Her eyes rested on their hands and the smile on her face disappeared. His heart sank when she pulled away and climbed to her feet.

"I-- I have to go," she said.

He leapt up, not wanting to let the moment end. He grabbed her arm, ready to apologize. "Stella, wait! I --"

The look in her eyes froze him. It was confused and searching and hurt and just a little bit afraid.

"I have to go," she repeated. She pulled away, grabbed her purse off the doorknob, and fled down the stairs.

* * *

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	10. Chapter 10

**Three Things**

X.

"_We can learn even from our enemies." -- Ovid, Metamorphoses_

When the door downstairs burst open Joe couldn't help the small leap of hope in his chest that it might be Stella coming back. His hopes were dashed in the next second, when Macy's voice rang out, "**Lucas!**"

He didn't even have time to climb out of bed, where he'd been moping ever since Stella left, before her quick footsteps sounded on the stairs and his doors flew open.

"What did you do?" she demanded, glaring at him. Well, not _at _him, at a point just over his shoulder. Apparently even blinding rage couldn't make her look him in the eye anymore. He sighed, grabbing the mask he kept by his bedside, the one Stella had tied on him.

"I don't know," he said truthfully as he tied the strings behind his head.

Macy's glare intensified. "Stella hasn't returned my calls in over a week! The last time we talked it was about you -- well, you, the mystery man she met in California, not you, the guy she spent basically her whole adolescence being in love with."

"What about Dave?" Joe asked, drawing out the name in a petulant way that made him feel the tiniest bit better.

Macy paled slightly. "You know about Dave?"

"Oh yeah," Joe said, nodding angrily. He'd spent the last week imagining this Dave character. Sometimes he looked even more ugly than Joe and sometimes he bore a striking resemblance to Van Dyke Tosh. Stella was probably with him right now.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out the reason for Stella's abrupt exit. She wasn't the kind of girl who thought dating two guys at once was okay. Her first post-high school boyfriend had found himself in hot water when Stella saw him with another girl. The excuse of "we weren't exclusive" didn't fly with Stella and she'd dropped him then and there. Joe figured that Stella had spent the past week with Dave, making up for her five second error of holding his hand.

Macy took a seat on the rumpled bed sheets. "So Stella didn't see your face? She didn't figure out who you are?" she asked carefully.

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

"I don't know! It's the only reason I could think of for Stella not to return my calls!" She pulled a crumpled slip of paper from her pocket and tossed it on the bed. Joe had only a moment to realize it had an address on it before she continued, "I had to bribe Giselle with two of _my_ Mets tickets to get her to give me the address of the house Stella's staying at but she wasn't there when I went to check on her this morning. I even paid some guy who works at Starbucks to call Stella on his cell phone, just to make sure she was alive and guess what? She is! She's just not talking to me," she added sadly.

"Well, she's not talking to me either, if it makes you feel any better."

"Why not?"

"I don't know!" Joe yelled, falling back onto his pillows. "I had finally decided that it was worth it to have her around, even if it was only for a few days, and she just up and left! No reason! Just -- gone!"

Macy worried her lip. "Tell me exactly what happened."

* * *

Light reflected sharply off the crashing waves. Wincing, Stella lowered her sunglasses and resumed her reading. She searched the page and realized that she hadn't been paying attention to the events of the book for several pages now, she would have to go back. As she searched for something she did remember she wondered why she bothered. Trashy romance novels weren't supposed to be this difficult, their ease was a trade-off for the shame of being seen with a book sporting a half-naked woman and a Fabio wannabe on the cover. Giving up the search she flipped to the beginning of the chapter and put her bookmark there before dropping the book onto her bag.

She stretched out her legs, leaning back and causing the beach chair she'd borrowed from Giselle's garage to creak. Her beach day wasn't helping any more than her spa day or her drive-along-the-coast day or her tourist day or her museum day had. There were a couple more days in there, but they'd clearly been complete failures since she couldn't even remember what she'd done during them. Of course, today was probably destined to failure from the start if she was being honest with herself.

The stitches on her leg had come out early that morning and though the doctor had cleared her for any and all activities she was a bit self-conscious about the marks left behind. Those would heal, he'd assured her, and he'd even given her some medication to help her skin along, but for now she wasn't about to take off the wrap-around floral skirt she'd put on over her bathing suit, leaving her stuck on the sand when all the real fun was in the water.

Her phone rang, a jaunty tune that had come with the phone and told her it was someone not important enough to get a personalized ring. She pulled her bag into her lap, simultaneously pushing the book deep inside and searching for her phone. She found it on the third ring. It was Dave. She considered answering and was immediately ashamed. She didn't want to see him for him, she wanted to see him so he could distract her. It was why she'd let him take her to the La Brea tar pits on museum day and she'd spent the whole time wishing his hair was darker, his taste in music better. It really wasn't fair to him.

"Let me guess, Joe Lucas giving you trouble?"

Stella sprang to her feet so fast that the chair tumbled onto its side in the sand.

"Smooth," the woman remarked dryly, looking Stella over through Jackie-O sunglasses. Stella glared. The glasses, oversized sunhat, and black wig couldn't mask Fiona Skye's voice.

Stella bent down to right the chair, saying, "Long time no see," and adding a poignant, "Bertha."

Fiona stepped closer and the headline "Starlet and Fashion Designer Throw Down on Beach" flashed before her eyes before Fiona popped her beach chair open in one fluid motion and took a seat beside Stella's chair.

"Oh come on," Stella moaned, "there is a whole beach, why can't you go sit by someone else?"

"Because you have the perfect view of the lifeguard training," Fiona said with a sickening smile. "And the intense annoyance you're feeling right now? That's just a bonus."

Stella bit back an angry retort and gathered her belongings off the ground. Her bag had fallen when she stood and some of its contents were covered in sand. She sat down, brushing most of them off and wiping the really difficult items on the beach towel Fiona had draped over her chair before sitting down. Fiona regarded the childish act of retaliation with a raised eyebrow but made no move to stop her.

It wasn't until Stella had finished and they'd both sat in still silence for several moments that Fiona asked, "Well? Was I right?"

"About what?" Stella asked through gritted teeth.

"Joe. He's the reason you weren't answering your phone."

Stella turned sharply at the mention of his name but settled slowly back into her seat and said, "Why would you think that? I haven't had anything to do with the Lucas brothers for years."

Fiona scoffed. "First of all, you may pretend that you've left them behind, but everyone knows you haven't. Why else would you be here if you weren't avoiding Joe in France? Oh, silly me --" Fiona raised her hands and made exaggerated air quotes -- "'Joe' in France."

"What are you talking about?" Stella asked, though it was out of old loyalties rather than genuine confusion.

"Please, they may have the press fooled, but I know Paolo anywhere. That little friend of yours must have sent him there to keep the paparazzi from knowing where Joe really is. And I'm pretty sure that place is close by. Why else would you be so annoyed?"

Stella turned, lowering her sunglasses so Fiona got the full force of her "seriously?" look.

"I mean annoyed before I got here."

Stella rolled her eyes and grabbed her book, deciding to give it another try.

"Oh, okay," Fiona said carelessly, "the silent treatment, like I've never gotten that before. Doesn't matter, I can carry this conversation all by myself. Let's see now, what could Joe have done to annoy you? Could he be dating someone else? Some up-and-comer, fresh off her first big film, just looking for an established star to be seen everywhere with? No. Joe hasn't been seen anywhere, not the real him anyway. Oh! Did he try to win you back? Embark on some crazy scheme -- you gotta love the Lucas brothers and those crazy schemes -- to win you back? But that doesn't make any sense. If he was going to do that he'd have done it when you first left. Hmmm, this is tougher than it looks."

Stella had dropped her hands, and consequently the book, to her lap and was staring off into the distance, trying desperately not to listen to her nemesis.

"Wow," Fiona said, the teasing, soul-shattering tone of voice gone, "he really hurt you, didn't he?"

"Behold," Stella said, her voice wavering slightly, "she has a heart."

"Or at least the next-best-thing as provided by Dr. Fernandez, renowned plastic surgeon."

Stella smiled despite herself.

"So why aren't you and Missy off drowning in rocky road and commiserating over the dumbness that is the Lucas brothers?"

"It's Macy."

"I know."

Stella shook her head, wondering why she was surprised. "Because I'm pretty sure she was in on it."

"Ouch. Betrayed by your best friend? That's harsh."

"She didn't betray me, she just … schemed behind my back."

"So, does your dictionary come from planet Earth? Cause mine defines betrayal as going behind someone's back."

"She was doing what she thought was best," Stella said quietly. She dug her toes in the sand, trying to figure out what had possessed Macy to keep something like this from her.

Fiona sighed heavily beside her and Stella looked up just in time for Fiona to say, "Listen, I know we're not friends but I do know a thing or two about guys and the jerks they can be and I won't eat rocky road or any other flavor of ice cream but, right here, right now, if you wanna get something off your chest, I'll listen."

Stella blinked several times before deciding she wasn't seeing a mirage. "One, where the hell did this come from? Two, why would I in a million years trust you? Three, who are you and what have you done with Fiona Skye? And four, please tell me you're never bringing her back."

"Ha ha ha. You've known my real name for years and you've never told. Plus, as annoyed as you and Missy may be right now, we both know you'd set aside your differences to bury me if I repeated anything you said to me in confidence. As for why I'm doing this, maybe I just want some dirt on you." She let the flippant comment sink in a moment before soberly adding, "Or maybe I really do know a thing or two about jerk guys and at the end of the day we girls gotta stick together."

Stella didn't remind her that they'd met because Fiona had been very purposefully disobeying that rule. Instead, she decided to take Fiona's offer at face value.

"The shorter, less creepy version of events," she began, "is that I met this guy and he helped me and I felt sorry for him because he seemed so pathetic. I tried to help him in return and I actually started to like him and then -- and then I realized that he was actually Joe."

Fiona frowned. "You mean in a you're-trying-to-get-over-the-guy-and-end-up-falling-for-his-would-be-twin sort of way?"

"No, I mean he's _actually_ Joe. I never saw his face but all these things about him kept bugging me." _The way he flips his hair out of his eyes, the way he grins when he gets nervous, and his heart._ Stella shook herself. The things she'd loved most about Joe had been the things that convinced her the so-called Paolo was Joe. She groaned.

"What?" Fiona asked.

"He told me his name was Paolo. And who did you say was impersonating him in France?"

Fiona laughed, drawing the attention of an elderly couple nearby. She glared at them to deter their interest and said, "Oh, that stupid boy. You'd think a musician would be more creative." She sighed, regaining her composure. "So, is that it or did he do something even more stupid?"

Stella shook her head. "No, he did get jealous when I said I'd met a guy, but that mostly makes me feel dumb. His reaction was classic jealous Joe. It took me almost two whole days after that to figure out it was him. When I did, I just left."

"Planning on going back?"

"Why should I? I mean, he's the one who lied to me, who pretended to be someone he wasn't. He should have told me who he was."

"Maybe he thought he could win you back. That if he got you to love him now, without knowing it was him, it wouldn't matter in the end that he'd lied."

"That's dumb, even for some of the guys' plans. And he couldn't have, he spent most of the time trying to get rid of me."

"Well, I don't think we'll get any closer to an explanation without actually asking Joe. So the question now is what are you gonna do?"

"That's what I've been wondering all week. My flight back to New York is tomorrow, if I don't think of something to do --"

Fiona reached over and rested her hand on Stella's. "I think you already did."

That wasn't something Stella wanted to think about. By not coming up with a plan of action, she'd actually been deciding to leave and never come back. But she didn't want that.

"Then you're gonna have to do something about it. And soon," Fiona said.

Stella blushed, she hadn't realized she'd spoken that last thought aloud.

"Thanks, Fiona. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you've been a big help."

Fiona smirked, lounging back in her chair. "I like exceeding expectations."

* * *

_reviews = love_


	11. Chapter 11

XI.

_"Does love do this to you?_  
_Make you turn into_  
_A completely different person?_  
_If it does, guess love's_  
_What happened to me…" _  
_-- Jessie Daniels, "What Happened"_

Joe barely started telling Macy his story before Nick and Kevin arrived, both seemed torn between worry for Joe and anger that he might have hurt Stella. Macy convinced the boys it would be best if they talked downstairs in the kitchen and Nick set to work making everyone sandwiches.

"Well," he muttered, pulling deli meats from the fridge, "at least the grocery service we set you up with seems to be working well."

"Those aren't from the service," Joe said, resting his head sadly on his folded arms, "those are from Stella."

"Stella brought you food?" Kevin asked, eyes going wide.

"Yes!" Joe snapped. "She brought me food and fashion magazines so that she could help me create a whole new wardrobe for myself. She cleaned this place up and cooked me breakfast -- she can cook now, did you know that? And she brought me this mask and all the other ones! You guys never thought to get me masks, we all just thought that the paper bag was good enough but not Stella! She didn't even know I was ugly, she just thought I was freakishly shy and brought them so I didn't have hiding my identity as an excuse to make her leave! It's no wonder that this Dave guy likes her! She's perfect! How has no one gotten her before now? Gah! I've been wasting all these years wishing she'd come back instead of going after her and when she finally does come back I push her away like an idiot! Why didn't you guys tell me how stupid I was being?"

At some point during his tirade Joe had begun pacing. All the three could do was watch as he raved. He didn't wait for an answer to his finishing question, only stormed from the room and up the stairs. The sound of his bedroom door slamming echoed through the house, making them jump.

"Do you think," Nick said, spreading mustard on bread, "that he's finally figured out he still loves Stella?"

"I hope so," Macy said, opening a bag of chips and eating one.

"But…"

"What, Kev?" Nick asked.

"If he's figured it out, what's he gonna do about it?"

The muffled sound of a particularly action-packed movie playing upstairs filtered through the ceiling.

Nick sighed, dropping a finished sandwich on to a plate with less care than usual. "It looks like he's gonna do exactly what he's been doing."

Kevin took a few chips from Macy and the two munched away, drowning their sorrows in salt and grease.

* * *

He may have just admitted to being an idiot, but that didn't mean Joe was foolish. He'd turned on the loudest sci-fi movie he owned before slipping into the shower. With his theater-worthy sound system there was no chance his brothers and Macy would hear the water running. He would have preferred to dry his hair but he didn't want to waste time, there was no telling when one of them would try to be helpful and come check on him.

From his closet he pulled one of the outfits Stella hadn't deemed unworthy, one he knew she would approve of. He'd taken his mask off for the shower and didn't bother putting it back on now.

He grabbed the address Macy had dropped when she first came in and slipped quietly down the stairs and out the front door.

* * *

"Okay," Macy said heavily, gathering up their plates and heading to the sink, "it's decided. Tomorrow Nick goes home and gets your parents. We'll deal with … whatever their reactions are when they get here."

"Are you sure you don't want --" Kevin began.

Nick smiled at him while picking up their empty soda cans. "No, Kev. I think it would be best if you stayed here."

"I wasn't gonna say me," Kevin said, "I was gonna say Macy. She's good at manipulating people."

Nick just caught the glare Macy sent his brother's way before he opened the door to the yard and was glad to escape when he did. Luckily the gardener hadn't brought the recycling container back inside, giving him a few moments of peace as he headed up to the front gate.

As he rounded the side of the house he thought about looking back through the kitchen window to see how Kevin was faring, but something in the front drive caught his eye.

* * *

Kevin cringed. Macy hadn't said anything yet, she was just staring at him, waiting, he was sure, for him to say something else even worse. He slowly stood, wishing he had a rabbit or a duck to distract her with -- she couldn't be angry with him while he held a cute animal -- but paused when he saw Nick. He couldn't identify the expression on his brother's face, but it wasn't good.

"Nick?" he muttered.

"Nick?" Macy demanded.

Kevin opened his mouth to explain but was cut off.

"Joe!" Nick cried and disappeared from the window in a blur. Macy turned just as Kevin came up beside her and both of them leaned over the sink to get a better view. Nick chased after a bright red sports car as it rolled out of the driveway with a Joe-shaped figure sitting in the driver's seat.

"He wouldn't," Macy breathed.

"Oh come on," Kevin said. "He totally would."

* * *

After the beach and her very surprising talk with Fiona, Stella had every intention of heading straight to Joe's house, but once she sat down in her rental car and felt the sand and the salt sticking to her skin she realized that showing up in a bathing suit probably wasn't the best idea. She headed home to take a quick shower and spent the entire time alternating between thoughts of what to say to Joe and what to wear.

Thoughts of what to say faded when she got out of the shower and had to get dressed. Luckily, she was on vacation so she had limited opportunities. After an hour she managed to narrow it down to two different outfits. Did that shirt say "I love you, I'm sorry I ever left" or did it just say "slut"? Did those shoes say "best friend" or "successful businesswoman"? Even when she'd dressed Alexis Bender for the Oscars she hadn't had this much trouble.

The sound of a car outside reminded Stella that she didn't have all day and she grabbed the outfit closest to her and dressed in a hurry.

* * *

Joe had never been more glad he'd brought Nick with him the day he bought this car. If he'd been by himself he never would have sprung for the GPS system and then he'd have no chance of finding Stella. The soothing computer voice guided him through the twists and turns of the California hills. He caught himself starting to speed and decided that he would lose way too much time if he got pulled over or lost control and went into a ditch.

Once or twice he thought he saw a bright blue car in his rearview mirror but he didn't dare stop to see if it really was the rental car he'd seen in his driveway while making his escape. As much as the others wanted him and Stella back together they weren't likely to approve of him going out in public like this.

"Turn right and proceed two hundred yards to your destination."

"Finally," Joe said. He pulled up to the corner a split second after someone else coming down the street Stella was on. They both made right turns at the same time and Joe saw that familiar head of blonde hair through the driver's window. He screeched to a halt, trying frantically to make a U-turn and follow her.

He got back onto the street just in time to see her disappearing around the next corner. The GPS told him he was going the wrong way and he turned it off so viciously that he doubted the power button would ever work again.

He didn't see Stella's car after making the turn but they were still in the country and by the looks of it this road went for a while without any turn offs. He powered through, doubting he'd find many police out here. Swerve after swerve in the road revealed nothing but trees and warning signs. Joe was getting seriously frustrated when the trees suddenly opened up and he found himself at the top of a hill. Beneath him were busy city streets, shopping centers, and gas stations. And, at the intersection at the bottom of the hill, stopped at the red light, was Stella's car.

Joe was certain that ramming into her and causing life-threatening injuries wouldn't help his chances, but he'd never been sorrier to drive safely. The light turned green when he was halfway there and, since Stella was the only car going that way, turned yellow seconds later. Joe made it clear but the blue car behind him made it on the red and sirens flashed. Up ahead Stella pulled dutifully over and Joe sped ahead of her, turning a sharp right so that the nose of his car touched the curb and his passenger door couldn't open half a foot before hitting her bumper.

The siren cut out and Joe caught a glimpse of the blue car pulled over more than a hundred yards back. Now that he was doing this he was actually kind of glad they'd followed. If he failed he'd need their support. And so would Stella.

He didn't bother turning off his engine, only climbed out of the car and walked around the back. Luckily the traffic on this particular street wasn't too much and there were enough lanes that he wasn't causing much trouble.

Stella sat, gripping her steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white, staring straight ahead in shock. He walked up to her door and she glanced up before he could knock on the window. He winced and was grateful that she seemed too shocked to be disgusted.

"Listen," he said as she climbed out, "I know I'm an idiot. I've always known that but I thought that it was better to give you what you wanted, to just let you go. But I can't do that anymore. If you really don't want to be with me -- and really, I know I'm horrifying, I don't expect you to say yes -- then that's fine. I'll let you go if that's what you want. But if you can look past this," he gestured to his face, "then … well, then I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman alive, because you'd be making me the happiest man."

Seconds passed with cars rolling slowly by, drivers clearly wondering what was going on, and Stella staring up at him. Joe fought the impulse to fidget, knowing this was too important. Suddenly she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He caught her around the waist, holding her against him and returning the kiss until she pulled away and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I missed you," she said quietly.

"I missed you too."

"Is there a problem here?"

The two sprung apart to face the officer who'd left their friends (after giving Macy a ticket) and pulled up behind Stella.

"Sorry, officer--" Stella began but the man's eyes were on Joe.

"You're --"

"I know, I know," Joe sighed. "Wait," he said, turning to Stella, "you really don't care?"

Stella only had time to frown before the officer declared, "Joe Lucas! Man! My girlfriend loves your band!"

"Care about what?" Stella asked. "The fact that you basically hid your identity from me? _Oh_ yeah. But it's not like that's any worse than completely ruining both my date with Van Dyke and the outfits you guys were supposed to wear for the Prime Minister, thus costing me a fun night and replacing it with a night of frantic worry. I got over that and I've gotten over this -- mostly."

Joe could only shake his head. He looked around for the others and, when he saw them running up the sidewalk, went to pass the officer.

"Whoa!" the man said, holding up a hand to stop him. "You may be in my girlfriend's favorite band, but you're still getting a ticket."

Joe didn't need to reach the others. The moment his eyes met Macy's her face broke out in a grin and she leapt into Kevin's arms. He swung her around, laughing happily while Nick stood off to the side, gesturing that he should probably get back to Stella.

"Joe," Stella said, grabbing his arm, "are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," Joe said, wrapping his arms around her. "I finally figured out what's most important."

"What?"

"This."

And he kissed her again.

* * *

_AN: This is the final chapter, which means it's time for my long final comments. Feel free to skip down to the review button. _

_Kudos to everyone who got the Alexis Bender joke in this chapter._

_I loved finding the quotes for each chapter. Only three of them (chapters 6, 9, and 11) came to me immediately. I've actually had "What Happened" in mind for the final chapter for a while now. It's one of my favorite songs and I highly recommend you all check it out._

_I'm sure most of you figured this out, but since no one mentioned it, I'll point out that the copy of _Peter Pan_ Stella finds in chapter 6 is in fact her book. Joe's a thief._

_Bringing Fiona in to help Stella figure out what she wants was one of my favorite ideas for this story and the drive to write that scene was part of why this story is done right now, so thanks to everyone who didn't hate me for using her and an even bigger thanks to those of you who were happy she was included._

_Also, the title of the story, for anyone who hasn't figured it out, comes from the episode "Frantic Romantic" when Fiona demands Stella say what she loves so much about Joe: "the way he flips his hair out of his eyes [chapter 6], the way he grins when he gets nervous -- and his heart [both chapter 9]." As Stella points out in chapter 10, these are the things that both make her start falling for the supposed Paolo and the things that convince her that "Paolo" is really Joe._

_I had so much fun writing this and you guys were a big part of that. I was iffy about this story from the start but all of your reviews helped me a lot. I've never gotten so many anonymous reviews that were actually encouraging and everyone who submitted signed reviews was wonderful! You made me want to keep writing, no matter how annoyed I was with where the story was going. And thanks in advance to everyone who reviews this chapter. I love hearing how people feel about a story once it's finished._

_Thank you all for sticking with me this long and remember..._

_reviews = love  
_


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